


My Sweetest Downfall

by kookaburrito



Category: Looking (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Haircuts, M/M, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:32:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kookaburrito/pseuds/kookaburrito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie offers to cut Patrick's hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Sweetest Downfall

“Your hair has really gotten longer,” Richie smiles, that disarming bright smile that always makes Patrick incredibly giddy, makes him forget about the rest of the world. He can’t help but smile back too.

At first, Patrick has been wary of getting his hair cut in Richie’s barber shop. He didn’t know why he was so hesitant. Sure, he didn’t usually go to such simple places, he went to his mother’s friend Stephanie’s place downtown in that ridiculously expensive hair salon where some girl with nails longer than Golden Gate’s bridge would spend two hours doing god knows what with fancy conditioners stuffed with extracts of aloe vera and special designer hair sprays until his hair would look like something out of a tv show only to magically turn back to normal on the next day. 

Also, this barber shop reminded Patrick of the talk they had after the disaster that was his sister’s wedding, Richie’s sad pleading eyes, his voice breaking along with his heart. He wanted to bury that particular memory deep down, and forget about it, pretend that it never happened. He knew it wasn’t the right thing to do: what he should do, if he wanted this unsteady relationship to work, is remember every detail and learn from his mistakes. Try to do everything in his power to make things right again.

That’s why when they were lying in bed on a particular rainy Sunday morning and Richie’s fingers tangled in his too-long locks, and he offered hesitantly “How about I cut your hair?,” Patrick’s heart skipped a bit and he rushed to say yes, because it was the right thing to do, despite all the hesitation and anxiety that came crushing down on him after that.

So now he was sitting down in a shabby barber shop’s chair, secretly peeking at Richie washing his hands and getting his instruments ready. He ignored a voice in his mind that sounded a hell lot like Augustin’s ‘ _You really think you should go to a place where your Mexican hot-blooded boyfriend who is still probably heartbroken and angry could cut your throat with fucking razors and scissors and stage it all to look like an accident?_ ’. Patrick shook his head, urging the voice to go away and took a deep breath. This was all about trust.

“Come on, let’s wash your hair,” Richie suddenly interrupted his train of thought, casually touching Patrick’s shoulder to make him stand up and guide him to another chair.

“Are you implying my hair’s not clean? Are you secretly ashamed of me? Did your shop mates just now whisper something to you?” Patrick couldn’t stop the easy blabbering that always came to him when he was getting nervous. Plus, it was always so easy to tease Richie, with him being so damn adorable and open, and Patrick could never make himself stop.

Richie laughed, shaking his head, and carefully laid Patrick’s head on a towel so his clothes wouldn’t get wet.

“I bet it was Rosita over there, she told you my hair smells like rotten eggs, didn’t she?” Patrick whispered with a smile, conspiratorially glancing toward an older woman who was busy cutting another customer’s hair.

“No, I’m just washing it so I can charge you double,” Richie replied, and Patrick giggled, actually giggled, because it was rare for Richie to joke back so effortlessly. Then he felt a stream of warm water hit the back of his head.

“Is it too hot?” Richie’s voice asked from somewhere over him, and his hands began massaging his scalp, thoroughly washing his hair.

“No,” Patrick murmured, letting himself get lost in the sensation. He never had doubts about Richie’s hands being magical, and now he got even further proof. Richie’s fingers slid behind Patrick’s ears, rubbing at the soft skin there, and Patrick resisted the ridiculous urge to purr. He wondered how something so simple could feel so good, could make him flush warm all over.

A few drops of water rolled from his temples and down to his jaw, and then he felt Richie’s finger gently brushing against his cheek to catch them before they dripped down. It was such a simple gesture, really, but somehow in the moment it seemed immensely precious.

Then all of a sudden the water stopped, and Patrick felt his hair being dried with a fluffy towel.

Sitting back in his designated barber chair spot, Patrick’s stomach swooped when Richie covered him with the white blanket. It felt so good being fuzzed over by Richie, his attention all focused on making Patrick feel comfortable. Even though he was just getting a simple haircut. 

“I guess I’ll just shorten it a bit, right?” Richie said, tugging lightly at the long hair on the back of Patrick’s neck.

“I just don’t want an army cut, or a mohawk, everything else should do just fine,” Patrick grinned, then added lightly, “I trust you.”

Their eyes met in the reflection of the mirror, and Patrick’s cheeks flushed. This surely wasn’t an appropriate sentence to say, especially after a joke, but he did blurt it out. Did he really mean it? And more importantly, could Richie trust him in return? They stared at each other a few seconds longer than necessary, and Patrick wondered anxiously what was Richie thinking about in that moment.

“Okay,” Richie finally said, suddenly looking way too serious.

The other customer paid and exited the shop, Rosita swept his hair from the floor and disappeared in the back room, and suddenly it was only Patrick and Richie, and a catchy Spanish tune on the little radio in the corner of the shop. The evening sunlight streamed through the window and Patrick noticed the sunbeams reflecting on the wall from Richie’s scissors. The moment felt warm and surreal, as if Patrick was transported into another reality, another life, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable, on the contrary, he felt like this reality welcomed him dearly, and it was only his choice whether he was ready to accept it or not.

Richie worked quickly and seemed very focused on his job, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Patrick watched him, looked at his arms flexing under his simple shirt, at his expressive eyes intently following the swift movement of the scissors and the comb, at his sexy stubble, at his pretty lips, which he was lightly biting in moments of contemplation. The fleeting touches were soft and incredibly gentle, and from time to time Richie would put his hands on Patrick’s head, guiding him to hold his head in a particular position, and somehow these touches felt much more intimate than those they hurriedly shared that morning in the shower.

A song came on the radio, and Richie started singing along. _'Tú tienes lo que quiero, me prendes como el fuego…'._ He sounded as if he was singing almost unconsciously, his mouth shaping those too-familiar Spanish vowels in a beautiful, sexy way that Patrick’s mouth will never be able to pronounce, even if he decided to devote all of his free time to learn the language.

Time seemed to stop for Patrick. He closed his eyes, concentrating on Richie’s deep voice, the raspy song on the radio and the sound of his own hair being cut, and he wondered if he could promise forever to this man, this beautiful, kind-hearted man, his Mr. Precious. He wondered if he had the courage, the will. Maybe he felt like he could, only because he was trapped in this moment, this very special infinite moment with him, and as soon as the bubble of illusion breaks, the moment will break too.

But maybe he was just being stupid, and he has already found the forever he has been looking for.

“Do you like it?” Richie asked, and Patrick opened his eyes to take in their reflection in the big mirror in front of him. And even though he still had the white blanket on him, his breath caught in his chest. They looked rather beautiful together in the warm light, his own hair shorter but soft-looking and Richie leaning slightly forward, touching his shoulder just gently.

“It’s perfect,” Patrick smiled, while averting his eyes from himself in favor of looking at Richie in the reflection.


End file.
